About Me

Thursday, August 18, 2016

The World is Listening

There has recently
been a bit of – ah – discussion in the world of Catholic online
presence about what constitutes acceptable speech by writers known
publicly to be Catholic. Much of the discussion I've read has taken
place along the axis of personal freedom of expression vs. what is
proper and suitable for people who are published in Catholic
periodicals. While I doubt that anything I say is going to bring that
dispute any closer to resolution, I wanted to share from my personal
experience an aspect that isn't getting much attention in the
discussion; specifically the aspect of evangelical witness.

I was raised in a
home that had what you might call a high propriety level – my
father had been raised a Southern gentleman and rarely used “strong
language” at all, and certainly not around ladies. I followed suit,
but when I left home it was into the military service, specifically
one of the floating ones, where my immature and malleable personality
was constantly exposed to people who swore like, well, sailors.
Initially I began to follow suit, but since this was also a time when
I was seeking to more consistently live my Christian commitment, it
wasn't long before my newly acquired vocabulary faced the question,
“Is this kind of speech honoring Me?” Since it wasn't yet an ingrained habit, it was an easy one to drop, and I continued
through my career speaking as I'd learned at home. This differentiated
me from nearly all my shipmates, but I never thought twice about it.
I didn't consider myself as “The Sailor who Didn't Swear”, nor
did I dream of censuring my shipmates for their salty language. I
simply lived, and spoke, in an environment where foul language came
as naturally as breathing – I was just careful not to pick up any
of those habits.

It was a while
before I began to notice that my unconscious abstention was impacting
those around me. I was astonished once when a shipmate next to me
swore at something and then promptly apologized – to me! I
was hardly such a fool to think that I could stop sailors from
swearing! But I began to notice that they did swear less when
speaking with me. I also noticed that if I was alone on the ship
(which was often), some would seek me out just to converse –
conversation that was almost devoid of foul language, no matter what
the shipmate's verbal habits normally were. I began to see that
talking with me was, for some of them, something like a verbal oasis,
or a calm patch in the midst of the steady gale of profanity that was
normal conversation aboard the ship. The conversations were rarely
about anything noteworthy – how things were going at home, or hopes
for their next duty station, or how their career was progressing,
that sort of thing. Just casual talk, but it was conversation,
not a stream of profanity.

It
took me a while to perceive
that my verbal habits were to
these men a signal, a public and audible statement that I was
different. Speaking with me could be at the least a gentler
experience than dealing with the sandpaper edge of profanity-laden
conversation. Furthermore, the change in the nature of the medium
usually impacted the content. Speech thick with profanity is more
commonly used to express criticism, cynicism, and contempt. One can
express those things without cursing, but it's more difficult. But
mostly I think it was simply the absence of the foul language that
was a relief, like breathing fresh air after being trapped in a
smog-laden valley for months or years.

The
recognition that I was different in that way led to recognizing that
I was different in other ways, too – specifically that I was a
Christian who sought to live my faith seriously. Some may have
expected that to be expressed as censure of their verbal habits, but
when I didn't do that, they got to wondering just how I managed to
avoid picking up this most obvious and contagious aspect of my
environment. Nobody was proud of the fact that they swore, as
evidenced by where and how they sought to curtail it (e.g. when they
were trying to impress some girls, or around children.) I sensed that
everyone wished they could swear less than they did, yet the habit
had them in its clutches. They would have thought it was inevitable,
but there I was (and a few others aboard with me), not
succumbing to the tidal pull toward toilet mouth. I think it gave
them hope. I know it ultimately provided me the opportunity to share
with some of them why it was I didn't curse, and where they could
find the strength to follow suit, if they wished.

From
what I've seen, this aspect of public witness has been missing from
the discussion of how we should be speaking. In my experience, even
(and perhaps especially) in environments where profanity was not only
unsurprising but as common as wall paint, people who do not
conform their verbal habits to that environment are distinctive and
noteworthy. What they do with that distinction is up to them. If
they choose to emphasize how different they are, and how others
should follow their example, it might send a different message than
if they simply offer an alternative, a quiet witness that speech does
not have to be profane to be effective. It may even open doors, as
people seek refuge from the rising tide of caustic verbiage found in
more and more places. Maybe St. Paul knew what he was speaking of
when he says “Let your speech be gracious” (Colossians 4:6),
because as I learned, our
very patterns of speech can be a channel of grace to those around us
– or not.

I
realize this goes against the cultural flow, particularly for those
who equate profanity with some kind of emancipation. Our
speech isn't just about us, what we want to say and how we choose to
say it. Our speech is about helping others, hopefully toward grace.
Maybe this isn't what is common in popular music, or what's found in
popular Broadway musicals, but if we're to be God's people, we need
to be conscious of what is forming our speech patterns, and whether
what comes out of our mouths is gracious.